


i am destroyer, i am lover

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Messed Up Roman AU, Extremely Dubious Consent, Lovecraftian Horror, M/M, Semi-Romanticized Version of Roman Slavery, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Will is more than just an appetizer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am destroyer, i am lover

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear oh dear
> 
> originally from a prompt on the kinkmeme: How about Hannibal as a sadistic, hedonistic (and cannibalistic) Roman Emperor with Will as his newly acquired concubine/slave, who is a gift from a senator. Dub-con happens with Will either not quite understanding what's going on or maybe he's actually ~trained and seduces Hannibal. Authors choice!  
> only then i messed it up because i didn't want to actually think about researching the roman empire or have to write hannibal in anything but tailored three piece suits
> 
> also further warning: DUBIOUS CONSENT UP THE WAZOO, WOW
> 
> i'm sorry to everyone

The night before he's taken to the Emperor, Will dreams.

He dreams of ravens, sees their beady eyes staring through him, evaluating him. Their beaks stroke through his hair, talons scrape down his chest. They beat their wings and caw at him, and he squeezes his eyes shut and falls to his knees, clutching his head.

He dreams of a throne made out of piled human bones, and he imagines how many people must have died to build it. It's beautiful in a way that makes his head ache, and the bones are smooth and polished beneath his fingers when he touches them.

He dreams of a stag, huge and terrifying, pressing its nose against his arm. It licks along his jaw, its tongue rough, and he stays still, too afraid to move, waiting for it to lower its antlers and spear him through, but when he opens his eyes the stag is gone and it's morning.

 

The morning he's taken to the Emperor, his master dresses him in a fine tunic, a shade of red he's been told sets off his skin tone nicely. The fabric is softer than anything he usually wears, gentle against his skin, but it's the color that makes him uncomfortable. He shudders, and imagines blood dripping down his arms.

He hasn't been told what's happening to him, but he has some idea. Today is an important day, he's been told, he's to be on his best behavior, he's not to have any of his— _fits_. He's to control himself.

The Emperor receives them in his sitting room, and Will has to keep his gaze fixed firmly on his feet to keep from openly gawking. Opulent is the only possible word for it, expensive but tasteful. He doesn't dare to look at the Emperor himself.

"Kneel, Will," his master reminds him quietly, and he sinks down quickly. He can feel eyes on him, and the back of his neck prickles hotly.

"Have you brought me an appetizer?" the Emperor asks in soft, clipped tones, sounding faintly amused, and Will's master chuckles.

"Hardly," he says. "Will is a seer."

The Emperor makes a long noise of appreciation. " _Is_ he," he says. "How does his gift manifest itself?"

"Death," Will's master says. "He sees how people have died, how they will die. He sees how lives weave together, and he can sense when one is threatened."

"Quite a prize, then," the Emperor says.

And then he's drawing closer, placing a finger under Will's chin and tipping it up. "Look at me," he says, his voice smooth, and Will wrenches his gaze up. "Tell me what you see."

Will's breath catches in his throat for a moment, and then he finds his voice. "Decay," he says. The Emperor is a swirling cloud, dark and oily, a mass of tentacles formed into a person-shape. He's surrounded by hundreds of ghosts, pale, insubstantial shapes that twist around him, form briefly into things resembling human faces. He blinks and shudders, and it's gone, he's looking at a man again. Pale, graying hair, well-tailored suit. "Not your own death, though. How many have you consumed?"

The Emperor looks at him, a long, hard look, and Will shivers. His heart is thrumming. "More than I think you'd care to know," the Emperor says, and then he smiles.

 

He doesn't understand what's happening for a long time, not even when he's led away, given a mug of strong-smelling tea and told to drink it, though it makes his head spin. It's only when he feels his vision start to fade and his knees buckle that he realizes his master may not have been entirely clear on the purpose of his visit.

He wakes with the feeling that someone is trying to drill their way out of his head, his mouth cottony. He's on an unfamiliar couch, in an unfamiliar room, and the Emperor is watching him.

"I see you're awake," he says. "I imagine you could use a glass of water."

After a moment, Will nods, and takes the glass. The Emperor keeps watching him as he drinks, and he wipes his mouth self-consciously.

"You're very talented, Will," the Emperor says, and adds, "as I'm sure you're aware."

Will shrugs, scrubs at his eyes. "So I've been told."

The Emperor's mouth twitches, like he's not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. "Your former master has given you to me as a gift. What I'm interested in knowing is how you can best serve me." He steeples his fingers and peers at Will over them. "I'm sure you've heard quite a lot about me. I am a man of an...insatiable appetite."

He smiles pleasantly at Will, and Will's spine crawls. He wants to curl up, make himself as small as possible, and it takes great effort to keep still, keep meeting the Emperor's eyes.

"However," the Emperor continues, "I have a feeling you may have a far more interesting potential." He pauses, leans forward. "I asked you before, what you saw when you looked at me. Tell me, what death do you see coming for me?"

Will sighs and leans back against the couch's back. He closes his eyes, opens them again, and then he can see it, the threads of the Emperor's life, black and smoky. Here and there, they tangle up, draw into knots only to smooth out again. "Poison," he says, "tomorrow evening, in your wine. One of your dinner guests. Snakes in your bed, three days later. A sniper on your roof the next week. I doubt any of them will have any effect."

The Emperor tilts his head. "No?" he says. "What do you think it will be, then? How do you think I'll die?"

"I can't say that you will," Will confesses, and the Emperor looks pleased with him.

"Good," he says. Pauses. And then, "Come here," he says, and, "kneel."

Will obeys, sucks in a little breath when he feels a hand running through his hair, fingering his curls. Drawing along his jaw, brushing over his cheekbone. The Emperor tilts his head up and to the side, leans down, and then his lips are against Will's neck, biting down, sucking until a mark forms.

"You are quite a delicacy, Will," the Emperor tells him. "Such a curious gift." He drags his mouth up to Will's ear, murmurs, "I'd like to make you mine," and Will, feeling slightly dizzy, says, "Oh."

He closes his eyes, exhales as the hand strokes through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp. And then the Emperor is pulling away, leaning back in his chair and looking at him appraisingly.

"Undress, Will," he says softly, and Will feels himself grow cold, his skin suddenly uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He's afraid, he realizes, he's afraid like he's never been before. 

"I'd rather not have to repeat myself," the Emperor says after a moment, and Will's eyes snap up to meet his. His fingers worry at the hem of his tunic for a moment, and then he wrenches it over his head, tugging his undershorts off just as quickly. The Emperor makes a quiet, pleased sound at his obedience, and Will shivers as a breeze hits his skin. His knuckles are white where they're clenched against his knees.

The Emperor stands, circles him, rests one hand on his shoulder. Curls his fingers around it and pushes Will gently down until he's lying back against the carpet, knees up. Will turns his head away when the Emperor pushes his thighs aparts and kneels between them; he knows what's coming.

"You're afraid," the Emperor observes, tracing light circles against Will's inner thighs. Will doesn't say anything, and the Emperor says, gently, "Look at me, Will."

He looks up, and there it is again: the oily tendrils, reaching out for him, the pale shades in almost people shapes. He shrinks back as much as he's able, digs his fingernails into his palms to avoid running altogether.

"I won't tell you you needn't be frightened," the Emperor says. "I'm not in the habit of lying. It's only natural that you should fear me. Nor will I promise not to hurt you." He strokes a hand down Will's thigh, over his knee, rests it briefly against his ankle. "But I can promise that you'll enjoy this." He slips his suit jacket down his arms and lays it carefully over the back of the chair, rolls his sleeves up delicately.

Will shuts his eyes and opens them slowly, and the Emperor looks like a person again, but the imprint of the wrong things hasn't gone away; faded, rather. One tendril reaches out, brushes against his side, surprisingly slick and solid, and his cock twitches, much to his shame. Another brushes through his hair, the sensation more comforting than he'd like to admit, and it's while he's distracted by this that a slim finger slips between his legs, presses against his entrance, and he can't help the way his body tenses instinctively.

"Relax," the Emperor tells him, and when he speaks his breath comes out in a fine black mist. "This will go easier on you if you don't fight it."

A tendril— _Gods_ , tentacle, more than anything—wraps itself around his ankle, tugs his legs further apart, and he has to choke down hysterical laughter. He doesn't know how he's meant not to fight this, resist the overwhelming feeling of _wrong_. The finger tests his entrance, traces around it almost teasingly, finally pushes in, and Will squeezes his eyes shut.

It's less of a violation than he'd expected, no violence or forceful intent behind it. The Emperor goes slowly, keeps stroking the—the _tentacle_ through his hair, down his neck and along his jaw, distracts Will with alternate sensations. Opens him up gently, like he's savoring it. When he feels the second finger begin working its way into him, he makes a little sighing noise, half out of hurt, half out of reluctant pleasure, and the slick grip around his ankle tightens briefly in response. There are more of them now, the oily appendages, stroking up and down his sides, flicking through his hair almost curiously.

Still, he can't help the involuntary gasping noise he makes when he feels one of them curl around his dick, stroking up and down the length of it. "Shh," the Emperor murmurs, "it's alright."

There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The Emperor smells of charcoal and dying flowers when he leans in and presses his lips to Will's, sharing his breath. When he pulls away, Will can feel the black smoke leaking from his own mouth, his lips slick and oily. He licks them instinctively; they taste sweet, against all reason.

The fingers press back into him again, stroke the inside of him, reaching out, seeking—and then they _find_ , and Will moans. The Emperor's lips twitch up, pleased. There's a sweep of tentacles under his chin and along his jaw, a fond, light touch, and Will sighs a little, curls his toes, arches his back lightly.

"It's all right if you squirm," the Emperor says, mouth against Will's thigh. He nips, and Will jumps. "I find it quite endearing."

The Emperor shifts, rolls his shoulders, takes in a very long, deep breath. The tendrils draw back slightly, and Will tenses. He's expecting—he doesn't know, more fingers, the Emperor's cock, but then there's something slick sliding between his legs, pressing insistently at his entrance. It flickers lightly against him, and then pushes inside, drawing a shocked gasp out of Will.

" _What_ —" he starts to say, and his legs twitch, instinctively trying to close against the intrusion. And then there are two tentacles winding around his ankles tightly, warningly, drawing his legs back apart.

"Shh-shh-shhh," the Emperor says gently, stroking a hand over Will's stomach. Like he's a frightened animal. "Don't fight this, Will."

He chokes on a sob, eyes wet, and he opens his mouth, to plead, to beg for the Emperor to stop, but the Emperor is leaning back over him, kissing him hard and forcing the words back down. Pressing his body against Will's, crushing their mouths together, and the weight of him is reassuring, somehow, anchoring. He can taste the darkness on the Emperor's lips, sweetish-sourish and heady. The—the _thing_ inside him thrusts, works deeper, even as others tangle in his hair, around his arms, caress his sides, and he whimpers into the Emperor's mouth. The sensation isn't entirely unpleasant, and he thinks he might enjoy this under different circumstances.

Will's feet curl against the floor, and he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of the ground beneath his toes, solidly real. "What are you?" he hears himself whisper, and regrets it almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

The Emperor chuckles, a pleasantly amused sound, so incongruent with what the rest of him is, and if Will focuses on it, he can almost forget the feeling of _wrongness_ all around him.

"Darkness," the Emperor tells him. "Ancient things, dead things. If you like, you can imagine I am a fairytale monster. But I am still a man, Will—" he presses his lips to Will's neck and bites, licks and sucks, and when he pulls his mouth away Will's throat feels wet and oily— "and I have a man's wants."

"Oh," Will breathes, and moans, arches up in spite of himself as the tentacle inside him works deep, presses against his prostate.

"How long has it been since you were last touched, Will?" the Emperor asks. "When was the last time you were fucked?" He kisses Will's neck, leaving behind a slick feeling as he drags his mouth down to the hollow of Will's collarbone. "Does your gift often provoke others to arousal? Or are they repulsed by the smell of death you carry with you?" His hips push against Will's, the fine fabric of his suit gliding smoothly against Will's skin, and he thrusts back instinctively.

"Oh— _oh_ —"

The tentacles slither under him, wrap around his back and cradle him, multiplying as the pace of the Emperor's strokes increases. They're beyond counting now, and they're full of a strange heat, leaving him feeling feverish wherever they touch him. His curls stick to his forehead with sweat, and the Emperor brushes them back from his face.

Teeth press into the hollow of his collarbone, linger there before biting down, hard. Will comes with a low, soft cry and the wet feeling of blood on his neck. He's crying in earnest now, his tears hot at the corners of his eyes, running down to his cheekbones, dripping from his eyelashes.

The Emperor smiles, his mouth bloody and dripping. "You taste so sweet," he murmurs, and there's a blackness spreading over his skin, black like coals, and feathers sprouting delicately along the lines of his jaw, running off his shoulders. He bends to lick at Will's neck again, his tongue rougher than any human's should be, languidly rolling his hips against Will's oversensitive cock. He comes with a soft sigh, a deep exhale and release, his head tipping back as the tentacle inside Will twists, pulses, floods him with heat.

The dark tendrils retract sluggishly, growing limp and drawing back towards the Emperor's frame. The ones in his hair linger longest, running through it in slow circles before finally pulling away. Will lets his head drop to the side and his eyes shut, and so he doesn't see the dark things retreat from the Emperor's face, doesn't watch him slowly become a person again. He curls on his side as the Emperor stands and brushes himself off, scrubbing a hand over his face to rub away the tears. Every inch of him is still so hot, like there's a fire trapped under his skin.

"Exquisite," the Emperor says, and crouches back down next to him, brushing a hand through his hair. He bends, pressing his mouth against Will's and running his tongue along Will's lips. "And more than that," he adds, and he's speaking to himself now, "mine. Aren't you?"


End file.
